The many colors of spring

Now that spring is officially here, and since I'm being dragged daily on walks with Mr. Darcy (and I could set our clock by his determination of when it's time to perambulate every afternoon), I decided to document the many colors of spring.

Shooting stars

Moss

Lichen

Horsetail

Mock orange

False Solomon's seal

Mystery flower -- can anyone identify? They're small and delicate, with a lacy leaf. (Update: A hat-tip to Shepherdess55, who correctly identified the flower as Lithophragma parviflorum, the small-flowered woodland star. Thank you!)

(Here's the leaf)

Lupine

Snails, possibly doing the dirty deed

Aspen

Arnica

Corn lily

Larch (tamarack), just putting out its needles

Nine-leaved biscuit root

Willow, just leafing out

Oceanspray

Red fir

Claytonia

Oregon grape

Waterleaf

Mr. Darcy

Wild rose

Distant mountains

Daffodils

Robins (nesting in rafters)

Tulips

Newborn horse (our neighbor's)

Pond

Ninebark bushes

Fresh eggs

Dandelions

Planting a garden

Arrow-leaf balsamroot

Winter wheat

Wake robin

Penstemon

Avalanche lily

Just some photos showing the beauty in this neck of the woods.

Want to meet Joel Salatin?

One of the huge advantages of writing for the Lehman's blog is the privilege of cyber-meeting some pretty incredible people.

One of these is Joel Salatin of Polyface Farms in Virginia. Lehman's asked me to conduct a two-part interview with this remarkable author -- and a nicer, more enthusiastic, and hilariously funny person you'll never meet.

Mr. Salatin will be appearing at Lehman's June 30th. You can read my first interview with him here. If you're anywhere local to Lehman's, it would be well worth it to register for their Country Living Workshop where Mr. Salatin will be speaking.

Problems with the peas

I'm starting to rev up the garden for spring -- weeding, organizing, etc. In particular, it was time to weed the pea beds and plant some peas.

But there was a problem. Can you see it?

NOW can you see it?

Here's the culprit.

Last year, if you recall, there was a killdeer nest smack in the middle of the garden. Because killdeer babies are precocial, meaning they're up and running shortly after birth, they have an especially long incubation period (up to 28 days). This meant we were unable to do some major infrastructure improvements in the garden (notably, adding more tire beds) until it was way too late to bother, because we didn't want to disturb the nest.

Now that the weather is drying out a bit and we wanted to get some more tires into the garden, I was dismayed to find the killdeer likely had a nest. Trouble is, I couldn't find it.

So I laid low for a while, weeding a bed, and let the mother settle wherever the nest was. Then I stood up and observed approximately where she got off the nest, and went looking.

Actually, I couldn't have been more pleased at where they built their humble abode. Located right in the pea bed, it's easy to see and completely safe (at least from accidentally walking on it or running over it with the tractor as we pull more tires into the garden).

However the poor mama is going to have to put up with me weeding around her eggs, then planting peas. I decided to get it all done at once so as to cause the mother as little distress as possible. So one morning I took my seed peas and went to work.

Here I've weeded around the nest.

Here the mother (or father, I can't tell them apart) is doing her "broken wing" display, trying to draw me away.

This display fooled me hardly at all, so I kept weeding and planting until the beds were done, about half an hour total. Then she settled right back onto her nest.

It was about this time Polly died, and we were so busily engaged in trying to get little orphaned Anna fed, so I didn't make it back to the garden for several days.

The next time I checked, I was distressed to see only two eggs.

The next day, just one.

And then there were none, and the parent birds are gone.

Magpies are the usual egg thieves around here, but I haven't seen any lately. However we've had crows. Nuff said.

So the poor killdeer lost their nest, at least this one. But it's still early in the season, and they'll build another and lay four more eggs -- doubtless in an inconvenient spot in the garden which will interfere with us doing any infrastructure improvements.

But that's okay. I like killdeer. I can be patient.

What on earth IS this thing?

Last week as I was splitting firewood, I glanced down at the ground and saw a revolting creature.

It was about an inch and a quarter in length, and as you can see, had a big oversized head which "pulsated" in a manner reminiscent of a miniature Star Trek monster -- you know, one of those predators from Planet Zortog or whatever.

You can see its mandibles which open and shut in a suitably fearsome manner, making me glad I was a zillion times bigger.

I haven't the faintest clue what this thing is. Anyone have any ideas?

Little opportunist

As you well know, our cow Amy has been nursing two calves (as well as providing us with an odd quart of milk a couple times a week). Little orphaned Anna is doing fine and everyone's settling into a routine.

As a reward for Amy's patience as well as to supplement her nutrition, we purchased a couple bags of COB (corn-oats-barley) with molasses.

Needless to say, Amy thinks this is a spiffy idea.

But she's not the only one who likes COB. This morning I noticed a little opportunist enjoying the bounty.

Granted, at the moment the bags of COB are just leaning against the porch, so I can't blame the chipmunk for taking advantage of the opportunity.

But yeah, time to put the COB out of reach.

Update on Little Orphaned Anna

Many readers have asked how things are going with little orphaned Anna, whose mother Polly died last Sunday. If there is a shortage of photos with this blog post, it's because things have been somewhat of a rodeo around here and taking pictures was not a priority.

Anna was born on March 2. This puts her at about seven weeks old, far too young to lose her mama -- or her mama's milk.

Therefore our priority was to get Anna to take a bottle. We mixed up calf milk replacer (formula) and heated it to the right temperature, and poured it into a calf bottle.

Then we got Anna into a small pen, put a rope around her neck, pushed her against the wall (which takes the "fight" out of a cow), and tried to get her to drink.

We tried and tried and tried. We massaged her jaw and throat; we held the bottle at different angles; we squeezed milk into her mouth (not enough to choke her, of course). It wasn't that Anna was necessarily fighting us; it's just that she wouldn't drink, no matter how long the nipple was in her mouth. After ten or fifteen minutes' of trying, we would get maybe -- maybe -- two or three ounces down her. We tried this five or six times throughout the day, same results.

Okay, time to rethink.

Anna wasn't alone in the corral. We also had Amy (Matilda's adult calf) and Amy's little unnamed bull calf in there as well. Our last hope was Amy.

Monday night we separated Amy from the two calves, which were tucked into a small pen. This added an additional noise level to our farm. Now it wasn't just Anna bawling; it was also Amy's calf, indignant at being separated from his mama; and Amy herself set up a lot of bellowing. Suffice it to say no one got a good night's sleep.

Yesterday morning Don got up early and we got Amy into the squeeze chute and tried, for the first time, to milk her. Considering she was agitated and annoyed at being separated from her calf and stressed from being in the unfamiliar squeeze chute, she did splendidly. I milked out just a little over a quart, not bad for a first-time milking.

We returned Amy to the barn, released her calf to her, strained the fresh warm milk, and poured it into the bottle. Then once again we tried to get Anna to nurse.

"Come on, little baby, this isn't formula, this is fresh milk," we told her, but she would have none of it.

Frustrated, we released her out of the pen -- and she dove, literally dove, for Amy's udder. She began nursing like there was no tomorrow.

Now lest you think this option hadn't occurred to us earlier, we should point out that Amy hasn't been overly kind to little orphaned Anna. She tends to shove the little brat away whenever she notices her. Therefore we coudn't depend on Amy's uncomplaining cooperation when it came to letting Anna nurse.

But we discovered something yesterday -- when Amy's own calf is nursing, she doesn't really care if there's an extra calf back there. And Anna, canny lass that she is, always positions herself in the very back, as far away from Amy's line of sight as possible.

So we devised a new strategy, and so far it seems to be working. At night we separate the calves (this morning all was quiet in the barn until 5:45 am and I slept like a rock). In the morning I milk Amy. Then I lead her back into the barn, release the calves, and hold Amy's lead rope so she'll stand still, so as to allow both calves to take as much milk as they want and need.

Then we release Amy out of the corral to join her herd-mates and graze on the very small amount of fresh grass that's finally starting to grow. The calves stay in the corral, where they have food, water, shade, and shelter.

(Amy's unnamed bull calf on the left, Anna on the right.)

Once or twice during the day, we go get Amy and return her to the corral, where the calves attack her avidly, then we put her back outside.

In the evening, we fetch Amy again, and let the calves nurse on her while holding her lead rope.

Then we let her loose in the corral with the calves, where everyone settles in with their dinner. Just before dark, we put the calves into the small pen for the night.

So far so good.

Despite her occasional aggression -- more like annoyance -- toward Anna, dear Amy has been an absolute trooper. It's asking a lot of her -- nursing two calves as well as being milked in the morning for us, but her body and milk production will adjust.

Nonetheless we're going to start graining Amy, something we haven't done for any of our cows in years. We'll also watch her health -- if she gets too skinny, we'll stop the morning milking and just let her nurse the two calves.

This schedule will severely restrict our movements away from home for the next few months, but needs must when the devil drives. We're just so -- SO! -- grateful Amy was in the wings, ready to rescue little orphaned Anna from the loss of her dear mother.

Such is life on a farm.

Little orphaned Anna

We lost Polly, our Jersey cow, yesterday afternoon.

Her death was completely unexpected. After looking so ill last week, she seemed completely recovered after receiving antibiotics. She was eating, chewing her cud, nursing her calf.

And then boom, she was down, dead before we knew it. Don removed her halter. After all, she won't be needing it anymore.

A kind neighbor brought his backhoe and dug her grave.

But unlike when Matilda died – taking her unborn calf with her – Polly leaves behind little Anna, less than two months old and far from being weaned. And Polly was my last trained milker.

However Amy (Matilda’s daughter) offers hope. She’s not trained to milk, but she’s lead-trained. She’s also – like Matilda – something of a “universal donor.” So yesterday afternoon we experimentally led Amy into the squeeze chute and I got some milk from her udder without a problem. By “some,” I mean a single squirt from all four teats. Since she’s actively nursing her own little calf, it's not like she’s walking around with a full bag waiting for me to milk her. For that to happen, we need to separate her from her calf at night. But at least she wasn’t fighting me trying to milk her. Amy has a sweet, gentle disposition, just like her mama did.

The squeeze chute was missing a bottom (the boards were rotted when we got it)...

...so Don cut two sheets of OSB and we slid those into position.

We ended up putting Amy, Amy's calf, and little orphaned Anna into the corral together.

We had hopes Anna would willingly nurse off of Amy, but the grieving baby doesn’t seem inclined to do so, even though she's undoubtedly hungry. Instead, so far she has spent the entire evening and night lowing pitifully for her mother. It's heartbreaking.

We always keep calf milk replacer on hand, so today we’ll bottle-feed Anna. She’s not going to take that indignity lying down, so it will be a bit of a rodeo until she understands what we’re trying to do, but at her young age there’s no possible way she can get sufficient nutrition from solid foods.

We’ll also start separating Amy from the two calves at night, and I’ll milk her in the mornings, with all the milk going to Anna (fresh milk is always better than milk replacement).

In the meantime, we’re all mourning Polly’s loss. Matilda and Polly, our two beloved Jerseys. Sometime farm life isn’t much fun.